Immortal Betrayal
by Mia Arabella
Summary: While normal girls wished for a happy ending, they had to take what they got: twisted tales told by twisted fairies with twisted hearts. Character Study. Jane-Rosalie-Leah.
1. Jane

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**Immortal Betrayal**

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**-Jane-**

John Smith is a simple man. His name is pure evidence of this. His jet black hair, with a jet black stare pierce her eyes, and she's in love. John Smith is everything she has ever known.

Jane still remembers his impatient foot-ticking habit while he read on her family's library.

Dante Alighieri, he reads. She used to rest her head on his lap when no one was looking…

"_Jane! You are behaving like a whore!"_

"_I'm following your footsteps. Aren't you proud of me, mother?"_

…his husky voice telling her everything she really needs to know: macabre deaths, tales about hell.

This is her heaven, and he seems fine with it as long as no one knows. She doesn't minds, because it's everything she has ever truly known.

******

It's another hunt day when her mother hides her, because she knows there's something wrong with her, but she escapes. It was stupid of the woman to believe she could control her. But it was always Alec.

_Alec. Alec. Alec._

And Alec was more screwed up than she was.

John helped her to escape. John kissed her hand—deceiving bliss. John promised he would show her to _live_.

"And you say this dwell is scary because…?" Elisabet—her parents were poor—was with them. Her stare lingered on him deeply, until he reassured her she was his only one. _And of course she was._

"It's deep…and dark…" Elisabet responded, dazed by the darkness in it. "Pretty scary to me."

Her peripheral vision is used to watch him; her breath caught on her throat when he whispers in her ear with a hoarse voice puzzling words, a lesson too private for ears of others.

"Tell me, my dear Jane, do you believe?"

Yes, she does. She's a little girl, and she believes on a burnt corpse in the chimney before the prince could ever get home, so he stays with one of the ugly sisters_._

Not that she's ugly.

She doesn't has time to think about it, for John Smith pushes little Elisabet into the dwell; she doesn't has the opportunity to scream.

And something about this fascinates her.

"You can keep a secret."

He brushes his lips against her own.

"Of course I can."

When she is back home, ignoring Alec, it's when reality hits her, and she starts crying.

_He's disappointed in me. I could have killed her myself in better ways. I could have made him proud._

******

Her mother drags her to Elisabet's funeral—tasteless and poor, just like her. It's there when things start to go wrong.

A girl twirls like sunlight on his life, and somehow, she changes everything. Jane wonders why no one scolds her for being so full of light.

She felt for the first time his lover slipping away from her when she saw him nervous.

"Can you kill the mother too? You are beautiful when death's around you." Her hand is about to take a lock of his hair, but he stops her.

"I reached my purpose. Her mother stopped fucking my father. It's done. And it's never going to be mentioned again. Do you understand?"

"I will keep the secret. Will you…?"

He leaves, and she's almost hurt.

Yes, things went badly when Jane saw Genevieve Sawyer speaking to John Smith.

And she cried, tears of joy; she would actually experience it herself.

That's the night she met Aro Volturi.

******

Sometimes, she thought, if she really _did _want to hurt somebody, she would; she could. Without really trying to either. Those thoughts were encouraged, and she would make _him _proud.

It wasn't her fault Genevieve Sawyer was on her way.

She was beautiful and she was golden: everything Jane was not. Killing two birds with one stone.

Tacky, fitting.

She shoved Alec away when he gripped her wrist, because he was always there to clean up the mess her sister did, running off to the woods where her new—darker, stronger, better—lover awaited a broken soul he could build whole. Or maybe shatter to pieces of what was left of it. Jane didn't see the difference between both.

John Smith never seemed so common, so…_human_.

She still knew _he _was around, because he was the only one who cared anyway, who saw her true potential. He was proud of her. _Always would._

******

It devastates her right away that he knows she tried to kill his golden girl. Jane wasn't particularly fond of mistakes, and the likes.

"You are a witch…!"

She could only roll her eyes, his own widening in horror.

"We must find out how deep, dark and scary this dwell really is."

A dead, empty sound, a dead empty body hits bricks; the dwell has no water. Just dead bodies. Alighieri sounds about right, right now.

"Oh, come on, aren't you proud of me, darling?"

******

Heart attacks—or at least what human kind knew of them at the time—were not common those days.

But Genevieve Sawyer just looked so irresistible to kill in her phony widow attire.

Jane remembers her mother slapped her face twice—hard—to erase the sadistic but poised smile on her lips before breaking down crying to God about redemption, for the exorcism to work—holy water still stings her eyes—, because there was no way in sweet inducing Hell her daughter was a _witch_.

Alec took her by the wrist with more force than before, but he still said nothing.

Jane watched him without really doing so. Everywhere her eyes would be laid upon, she saw the same sweet image in her head: the funeral of Genevieve Sawyer in all the vivid glory a fourteen year—almost fifteen, mind you—old could come up with.

And every time Jane smiled wider, Alec just griped her wrist tighter, holding into both of their sanities.

She manages to think of her loving brother once, how she misses his hand interlacing with her own delicate fingers, before all of her sanity is devoured by the thoughts of her eternal lover and secret savior, of promises of an immortal future along him.

******

She can't think straight. Black shadows are clouding her mind, vivid flames ripping her apart. Her mouth has that copper aftertaste she hates. This is hell.

But her hand is linked with Alec's, and her sight caught long black hair in contrast with pale white skin.

A drop of blood fell right on her lips.

And all is black.

******

She's beautiful. He loves her. _They _love her.

"You believed on fairy tales; look where it got us." Alec's reflection tells her on the mirror she's holding, his bright red eyes so beautiful, she's _almost _jealous; it's the same shade of crimson hers have.

She's beautiful.

Fairy tales do come true after all.

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_**Review **__if you feel inclined to do so. _

_Coming up next, Rosalie__._

_Read my other story for more blood…?_

-**Mia.**


	2. Rosalie

_I feel as if I haven't done any justice to my favorite character. But here it is._

_**Important information**: To understand these drabbles, I strongly recommend googling each individual story. Like Jane's (hunted for being a witch; Aro saved her and Alec when they were being burnt, killing the whole village), like Rosalie's (explained on book three), and Leah's (Sam and her where a couple until he imprinted on her cousin, Emily; her father died when she & Sam phased in front of him; the rest is explained through all books). _

_Now that that's out of the way…_

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**-Rosalie-**

There are things she does not understand, nor she wishes to.

She likes the simple things—to understand, that is, because coffee, and chocolate, and men are always better rich—for she has never liked to think deeply.

It's not that she's stupid. She just wants to be; there are things she's afraid to fully comprehend.

Pins stick hard on the top of her head, making her hair go in subtle waves that just complete her outstanding beauty.

"_Boys will always be boys, Rose. They want someone who can make them look good, not someone they could write a dictionary with…" _

_The corset doesn't let her respond._

Beauty and pain—real, excruciating pain—don't quite go together for her; Rosalie just knows her beauty opens doors, and so do her parents.

"I'm sure you have met my lovely daughter, Rosalie, Mr. King."

"Oh, Father, it is not polite..."

It's his son that talks.

"He's just stating the obvious, Miss Hale. Angels can be put to shame at your sight."

It's not love at first sight. It wasn't about love at all.

Her father and his share sideway glances.

"Would you honor me with this piece?"

He asks. She's distracted.

The Cullen Family are a distracting conversation, as is her reflection on Royce's glass.

Women do not drink, you see.

"_They have yet to agree to delight us with their presence."_

Maybe Rochester would shut up about their beauty, and see she was the best thing they had lay eyes upon.

Royce Jr. already had.

He whispered so as they danced, little Lillian Hale gasping at the perfect picture.

Dolls and fairy tales paled at the comparison.

If only Vera was there.

***

Roses. Now violets, for a change.

She was glad.

She hated roses in all their cliché glory just as much as she hated Edward Cullen the moment he met and ignored her in one _perfect, gorgeous, graceful, fluid _motion.

Outshone by a boy. How unexpected, how infuriating.

_How…_

Rejection. Ugly feeling.

Roses and violets, and wedding and children, and parties and social life. Married life would have to do.

_There are things she does not wish to understand. But it's there…_

***

Vera was the only friend she had. Yes, not _that _pretty and now married to a _carpenter_, but she's a _friend _none less.

Friends, those and these days, are hard to have.

Little Henry is an angel.

But she would have her own, and she would name him after his own father. A name powerful enough.

Royce King-Hale the fourth.

She can almost feel the pat on her perfectly flat stomach in agreement.

When Vera's husband comes home late at night it's when she realizes time goes by flying.

That's the only thing she assures herself she discovered.

Then one worse did.

***

Obscurity dulls lightness, she can taste the blood and the disown on her mouth, on her body. Every hand on every place, every drunken slur shushing every plead.

Instead of asking for pearls at her fifteen birthday, she should have asked for a gun.

"You might want to look for a blabla…"

She wants to gag.

Rosalie is waiting death with open arms, though, a smile on her face. So much for things she understood. For things she could have stopped.

It hurt to cry; a broken rib.

And something wasn't quite right besides the obvious.

She would have called you an idiot if blood wouldn't be spitted out of her luscious lips, and in your face.

Always the lady.

She had won the ticket to hell.

Rosalie never trusted God in the first place.

***

It's puzzling, her life. Or her death.

And for some reason, she's furious.

The reason stands in the corner, and it's Edward Cullen talking to his sister.

But she's there.

What the hell is she doing there?

"Rosalie. Do you remember me?" Asks Carlisle.

Idiotic question.

Of course she did.

Edward scoffed, and he was taken aback when Rosalie looked at him.

Maybe those bastards took away her precious beauty from her.

Anxiety.

Edward looked at the mirror and back at her. _Things she does not wishes to understand…_

As Carlisle speaks—and she has the ability of understanding his pleading whispers while thinking about how breathtaking she has come to be, taking a deep breath as she thought so, the oxygen quite not there—she wonders if her life, instead of a fairy tale, was a horror story.

"Vampire." She repeats, her voice so melodic.

Shame slaps her, and she starts crying., but tears fail to frame her gorgeous face.

She would cry until they fell. They would. They had to.

Her throat burns, and she's thirsty for vengeance.

Wild contrast.

Edward just leaves her alone; her beauty would do a fine job consoling her.

***

She wraps her body on her blankets after she kills them all.

_Sweetly. Gently. Lady-like. Poised._

She should be sleeping, _everyone must_, so she doesn't makes any noise.

_Cruelly. Violently. Twisted. Poison. _

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_Review and I might do the Denali Clan. This turned to be a healthy writing exercise._

_-**Mia**._


	3. Leah

**Last one, folks. **

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**-Leah-**

Living on La Push is an absurdity to her, since she wasn't even born on the place, but she stopped complaining when her sight caught big black eyes that looked at her intently.

Sam is the always essence of intensity.

Figures.

*******

"Leah and Sam, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-"

Seth has a black eye.

Now she's grounded.

She never entirely meant to hit him with such force, and she feels guilty.

That rarely happens now.

She apologizes.

He closes his door on her nose. He's a kid.

But so is she.

On the morning, nothing happened.

He can not see his own eye, but she well can.

*******

Graduation is coming up.

She just wanted real life to start.

A life that promised lots of Sam. Independence. Responsibility. Pain.

_It's all worth it if he stands by me._

He starts to disappear, though, and she's not so sure if she can do _this _alone.

But he always comes back to her, and she doesn't asks for anything else.

Fights can be saved for later. They _would _be saved for later.

She has to enjoy him while she can; she doesn't know when he'll disappear again.

But she loves him, so she doesn't ask any questions.

*******

She's eighteen when they have sex.

Angry, hot, make-up sex, that somehow, is their own kind of love.

It blends them in. They _make _love.

Sam is shaking the whole time.

"Am I forgiven?" He whispers on her ear.

She forgives him.

Of course she does.

"Family dinner." She responds against his chest. He has gotten so _huge_. "Don't wear anything nice."

She seems to think about it.

"Don't wear anything at all."

The laugh roars on his chest, and she bounces up with him.

Sam brings familiarity with him, even if it's not the one she's used to.

He protects her.

That's all she needs.

*******

There's something wrong.

There's always something wrong.

But now, it's not with her.

"I…Leah…I-"

"You want to leave me?" She hates preambles; her voice is cold, stony.

She's not stupid. She saw him stare at her cousin in a way he never stared at her.

It broke her.

She doesn't know how, but she's crying.

"I'm _so _sorry. It's this…this _thing _controlling me from the inside! You know I love you…"

She winces. Empty words.

"If you love me like you say you do, you would have told me what the hell is going on with you lately years ago, Sam! Years ago!"

"I can't…I just can't!" His anger seems odd. But what can she add?

He is intense.

His excuses don't seem enough, though.

"You know what? Screw you!"

His breathing pattern is so heavy, she can hear him even when she's already walking away.

She doesn't mean it. She knows she doesn't.

She turns around, but he's already gone.

Leah doesn't know how she still has water on her body at all.

"You both will have a pillow talk, and tonight never happened." Her mother reassures her.

_Tonight never happened._

*******

Except he disappears to Lord knows where.

She has asked for him so many times, Jacob has replaced _Hello's_ with _No's._

And he wasn't really polite with her to begin with.

*******

It's noon when Seth returns home with another black eye.

Nobody hits him except her.

_Nobody._

Jacob and Quil try to cover names up.

_Specially_ not that jackass.

*******

Rumors were true. Betrayal slaps her hard on the face.

Her cousin is at his house.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! You can't bare to hit me on every fucking way, yet you still hit my family?! Who the hell do you think you are!?"

"Leah, please. Stop it." Emily is by his side, where Leah is supposed to be. And _God_, she despises them both.

"Or what? You'll steal my brother too?! I wouldn't be surprised. You are one selfish-"

Ripping sounds, a blur, and suddenly, Leah got her answers.

Her eyes widened in horror, but she's not disgusted.

No, she is not disgusted, for this beast holds the gaze of _her _Sam_._

Even as he steps down to cut her face; to leave her a mark making love could never have.

Pain is the only thing she seems to get from him.

The blur of red on her hands is the only thing that can make Sam phase back.

It's not her own blood, but it's still hers.

That's what hurts the most.

*******

She's with Emily the whole time.

But so is he.

Awkwardness just got a new definition.

She doesn't push him to come back to her.

And he never does.

He did talk to her, once.

"I never told you how…"

"I don't want to hear it. I'm here for Emily."

*******

The Cullen's come home, and legends that affect them all come back with them.

Sam is around more time than he needs to be.

And this beast has possessed them all.

Even her.

It's not until her father dies that she realized what a danger she has become.

A danger she can not fight, for she does not understand why her, of all girls.

_Question. Answer. Question. Question._

Jacob bites her hand and pats her back.

*******

She's guilty for torturing herself in the process of torturing him with her own thoughts.

Sam can hear her, and it's the only good thing that has happened to her in a long time.

*******

Now she's with vampire-friendly-Jacob because her stupid brother follows him.

And she loves him; she has to.

She can't ignore her nature, even if there's nothing attaching her to it.

But, Jacob's right. And she hates it.

If she's away from Sam, then all will be alright.

It has to.

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_I'm pleased with the way this one turned out. __I think I'm going to print it. Who knows._

_I receive** one review** and do the Denali. Pretty, please?_

_Love to Kopri, for beta-reading (even though it's a bitch to find her)._

_And love to anyone that is reading this._

**-Mia.**


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